Thankful
by J.A.K
Summary: A One-Shot. Chloe is dying of cancer. Comfort is hard to give when one is dealing with a person who can secretly relieve any situation. CC friendship. It could be turned into more if people like it and review.


**Title**: Thankful

**Author**: J.A.K

**Rating**: PG-15 

**Summary**: A One-Shot. Chloe is dying of cancer. Comfort is hard to give when one is dealing with a person who can secretly relieve any situation. C/C friendship. It could be turned into more if people like it and review.

**Author's Note**: I love the idea of Clark and Chloe as a romantic couple, and I've been waiting for someone to write a really juicy C/C story of my liking. A year and a half later, I have read many stories that tackled both requests, but few have ventured out of the normal plots I've come across so far. Hopefully everyone can appreciate that there aren't any Chlark fics out there (as far as I know) with a plot anywhere close to this. **This _was_ intended to be a one-shot, but I saw so many possibilities with it, that I wouldn't mind writing more;** **a story in which, perhaps, Chloe can live to a ripe old age.** Please read and enjoy.

Enough of my babbling…on with the story!

**One-Shot **

I didn't know if there was anything left to say. 

Neither did he. 

So we just sat there and stared at each other in silence, both of our faces reflecting varying emotions that ranged on a scale from acceptance to full blown shock. Shock that made everything seem surreal; as if this was just a cheesy B movie and at any moment the doctor would walk through the doors and say: "Chloe we found the cure" and I would laugh, all the while crying tears of relieved joy. 

But this was real life, and the only tears that would be shed were tears of sadness, because there were no happy endings. Happy endings were only for books and movies. In reality, life just keeps on going, and the only true ending that comes is death; whether you die from old age, warm and comfortable in your bed, or from cancer, eighteen years old and just about to begin your life, was an entirely different story. 

I closed my eyes and clutched the blankets that were pressed on either side of my legs. A strong wave of panic induced anxiety was trying to push its way to the surface of my stomach and at the forefront of my mind, but I took a calming breath and pressed my fear aside. Right now I had to keep Clark serene. I had to help him accept a future that didn't include me.

I opened my eyes and looked him over. He seemed tired—an obvious sign that he wasn't getting enough sleep—and scared. And though those aforementioned things were a strong part of his feelings, the most prevalent emotion that was written on his face was pain.

His hair was disheveled, and for once was showing its true nature without the helpful adage of perspiration or any form of moisture, as tiny curls were starting to appear on the tip of each strand. He had on a crisp white t-shirt that belied the weariness its owner possessed, and plain loose fitting jeans that hung on the sides of tanned boots. A low pitched beat was bouncing off the corners of the walls in the room as his nervous fingers drummed out a rhythm that probably made sense only to his ears. 

Finally, overwhelmed by the silence, I decided to speak.

"Are you just gonna stare at me, or are you gonna do what I was telepathically trying to tell you, and lie in this bed next to me."

His fingers stopped moving.

A long sad sigh escaped his mouth and he shook his head.

"I don't think I can get into that bed with you Chloe."

My lips curled together in amusement. I knew there wasn't any malicious intent behind his words so I just responded with the obvious.

"_Why_ can't you get into the bed with me Clark?"

He looked a bit desperate and I noticed for the first time why he had been keeping his fingers in constant motion; every time they stilled, tiny tremors quietly made their way through his palm and up his arms.

"It's just" his voice sounded rough and shaky and he stared at his feet while he spoke "I don't know if I can touch you."

Automatically understanding what he meant and feeling even worse for it, was the compelling force that made me dig deeper for strength I didn't even know I had, and allow Clark to lean on me.

Amusement gone, I reached over, and tried as much as I could to put his hands in mine, and still them. His stare was downcast and he kept himself focused on our entwined hands.

"_Look_ at me."

His eyes hesitantly met mine.

"It's okay" I whispered. His head started to shake and his mouth opened in protest. I quickly put a quieting finger over his lips and began again with renewed conviction "It _really_ is okay."

With that said, he got up and situated himself so that his head was resting against my chest and his arm was enfolded around my middle. 

All the words had been said, all the treatments had been tried, and there was not much left to do or say. It was that obstacle that rendered me speechless and unable to vocally make him feel better; so I just continued to hold him close to me, running my fingers through his hair every now and again.

We stayed that way for a few minutes, until my body began to tremble. It took me a full five seconds to realize that it wasn't me, but rather the force of Clark's form against mine that was shaking my body.

I didn't know _why_ his body was shaking, and I thought to myself that it was a good thing that we were already in a hospital. It wasn't until I felt moisture urge itself through the cotton of my gown and on to my skin that I realized that he was crying. As his quaking shoulders intensified with their heaves, and when even his breathing couldn't keep up with the force of his pain, I realized then that he wasn't merely crying…but he was weeping. 

The following words felt natural as they eased their way through from my lips.

"Don't cry any more Clark…it'll be okay."

His hands grabbed the material of my garment and squeezed it until his knuckles begun to turn white.

"How can you keep _saying_ that?" His voice was muffled and distorted against my gown. His head was pressed against my chest so firmly that I felt a low building pressure that was almost uncomfortable in its beginning, but not quite to the point of discomfiture.

"Everything's _not_ going to be okay." He moved his face to the side so that it was free to feel the coolness of the hospital air. "You're going to…"

The fact that he still couldn't say it disturbed me; and I knew that I should never have indulged him so much before, by letting him cling as strongly as he did to denial. It was harder on him now because he had less time to acknowledge it, and even less time to admit to himself that all of this was actually going to happen.

"…die?" I supplied for him.

Everything seemed to stop moving. It stayed that way until ten motionless beats later Clark let out a quiet but moving sentence.

"God Chlo', you _can't_ die." A few more deep steadying breaths. "_You can't_."

Tears gone but anguish remaining, he braced himself on his elbow, looking up into my eyes.

"I won't _let_ you."

That was when moisture rose to my _own_ eyes and I felt myself on the verge of breaking down. 

Somehow I kept myself together and put my hand to his cheek, wiping the tears that still loomed over the plains of his face.

"You can't stop it."

The look that he gave me then—one of complete focus and determination—was _enough_.

It was enough to make me forget that Clark would never get the chance to love me. It was enough to show me that sometimes the best things _can_ come at the end. It was enough to let me die happy.

**AN**** 2**: Reviews are greatly appreciated and muchly adored!


End file.
